


clear/nice/alluring

by helloshepard



Series: prowlcoswave [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Brief Musing on Whether Execution Is An Appropriate Punishment For A Multitude of War Crimes, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Drunken Shenanigans, Fix-It, Multi, POV Second Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Reminiscing Over War Crimes, Synesthesia, Telepathy, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: In two words: you’re drunk.
Relationships: Cosmos/Prowl/Soundwave
Series: prowlcoswave [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633282
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88





	clear/nice/alluring

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not certain this deserves an 'm' rating, but it *is* rated 'm' for all of the characters being drunk, cosmos feeling up soundwave just a little, and soundwave briefly wondering if he should just be executed for war crimes. that being said, this is more or less character introspection. and a little fluff.
> 
> in true form, this posted without formatting, specifically italics.

In two words: you’re drunk.

You’re significantly more overcharged than you have been in…probably since before the war started. Your FIM chip rests steady at 20% effectiveness and you could easily sober up, but…

But Cosmos is comfortably resting against your side, tracing one of the seams on your legs, and you’re afraid that if you sober up, you’d be too uncomfortable with this. With the touch. The closeness, that he initiated, not you.

Or maybe that’s Cosmos’s fear. You’re so overcharged that his thoughts are swimming in your thoughts, and he’s…beneath your mask, you squint and try to focus.

No. Cosmos is fine. He’s happy, you think, and that happiness is sweet and yellow on the tip of your tongue.

So it’s you that’s afraid.

Out of the three of you, Prowl’s the only one who’s made it all the way to an actual chair. He’s sitting on it backwards, resting his chin on his forearm. You’re not sure who had the most engex, but however much Prowl had, it’s enough that he feels comfortable staring at Cosmos.

You and Cosmos made it just past the door before deciding the floor was more comfortable than any chair could ever be. You’re leaning against the door and Cosmos is leaning against you.

“What’re you thinking about?” Cosmos asks.

Cosmos doesn’t know who he’s asking. So neither do you. Prowl squints at the other Autobot, and seeing him trying to puzzle out Cosmos’s words is endearing, all soft angles and gentle numbers. 

You wonder if Prowl has ever looked at anyone else like that.

Cosmos elbows you.

“You,” you say, which is the truth, and also because you’re drunk and don’t know what else to say. His visor brightens, and his surprise sounds like a sharp, sweet note in your audio receptors.

“I am pretty great, huh?”

“Yes.” You find a bit of courage and loop your arm around his shoulders. They’re so wide that you can barely manage to get your forearm against his neck. Your plating burns where you touch him. Or maybe it’s his mind that’s going into overdrive, heating up where your armor makes contact with his. “You smell good.”

You heard their minds come to a screeching halt.

“Uh,” Cosmos says, when he composes himself. “Smell good?”

No. That’s not the right word. “Taste good?”

That’s even worse. _Sound?_ No. You don’t have the vocabulary to describe what you feel, and never have. You’ve never met someone like you, never had a chance to ask them what do you call this? What is this? You consider sending a data packet over to Cosmos but decide otherwise. Maybe if you just shut up he’ll drop it.

It’s Prowl that speaks again, and now you can feel his mind, still sharp and awake despite the engex (Prowl likes his engex cold, with so much nickel it’s practically engex-flavored nickel, not nickel flavored engex).

“He’s—you’re—a telepath,” Prowl says. “But telepaths don’t…smell?”

He’s right. You hear Cosmos frown, and then he gets closer.

You wonder if he can hear your processor, your spark. He practically crawls into your lap, all clumsy hands and delightfully warm plating.

It would be cute if you weren’t so scared.

Of _what_ , you wonder—they both _know_ , and they haven’t tried to dissect you in a lab or run screaming. Or maybe it’s because they don’t know the specifics, that saying ‘telepath’ is far easier than saying _I do not know, but: your hesitation is sour and the way you look at each other is the softest thing I have ever felt._ No one knows that, save for Ravage and Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. Not even Rumble and Frenzy. Not even, you think, with a small, bitter kernel in your spark chamber, Megatron.

You feel Cosmos puzzle over Prowl’s statement. His curiosity is…soft, you think. Soft and curious, a gentle yellow on a ocean of blue and green. You force yourself to meet Cosmos’s optics, and privately, you think for a moment that they’re the most beautiful thing in the galaxy.

And Prowl gets up. His steps are slow but measured, and he comes to a stop in front of the both of you and drops to his knees. He wavers there for a moment, then gives up and just sits, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. This close, it’s near impossible to resist the temptation to take a deep dive into the steady lines and solid, clear math.

You’re not trying to—you’re trying _not_ to, because Prowl doesn’t want you in his head and no matter what, you don’t want to mess this up, whatever this is—but you feel his mind going to work. You’d hesitate to call it soothing, but there’s something about the coolly methodical way he starts at point 1A and ends at point 24.10C half a second later. It makes sense. It _is_ soothing, you decide.

“You don’t read minds,” Prowl says. “You feel them.”

Dumbly, you nod, because that’s…that’s the most succinct, sensible way to describe his abilities. You don’t have much time to puzzle over it, because Prowl is thinking again. Belatedly, you set your FIM chip up to 40% and watch Prowl watch you. And you also watch Cosmos watching Prowl, feeling the gentle pulse of affection between them.

Tentatively, Prowl reaches out. You freeze, and Cosmos leans his head against the glass plating on your chest. Prowl hesitates, and you nod. You wonder if, somehow, they can sense your hesitation.

His fingers touch the tip of your head crest, as though by touching you, he can understand you. Understand _it._ Which is funny, because you don't even understand _it._

“What does it feel like?” He asks, and you frown, because without a hardline connection, how can you describe the totality of everything that makes Prowl, Prowl and Cosmos, Cosmos, and makes you the sum total of them and everything else in the universe?

“It varies.”

Prowl’s hand is still on your frame. You wonder if he’s forgotten it’s there, but you’re not going to bring it up.

“From person to person?” Prowl asks. “Or situation—no. Of course it would be different during different situations.”

Cosmos speaks, and his words break the trance between you and Prowl. Prowl moves his hand away, but he doesn’t get up.

“What do I feel like?”

You fall silent, but not because you’re avoiding the question, but because you don’t know how to answer. Usually, he tastes…lonely. But you don’t think Cosmos wants to hear that. You don’t know what he wants to hear. If you did, you’d tell him.

“Green,” you say, and Cosmos snorts. “But warmer when you’re not alone.”

“Huh.” Cosmos doesn’t know what to think of that. But he’s not feeling repulsed. So you consider that a win. But then Cosmos gestures vaguely in Prowl’s direction. “What about him?”

You can’t bring yourself to look at Prowl. But you can hear him tilt his head, and you feel his curiosity prickling at the edges of your mind. So you answer.

“Clear.” That answer, at least, is easy.

This time, it’s Prowl that speaks up.

“Clear?”

You nod. “Your processes are understandable. Easy to follow.”

Prowl makes a noise, and you can tell he doesn’t know if you’re complimenting him or not. You are—you’re trying to, at least. You decide to try again.

“Prowl is linear.” You feel yourself slipping back into old, comfortable speech patterns—out of every mech on this station, not including the cassettes, only Prowl’s picked up on the fact that these days, you only talk like that when you’re uncomfortable. He’s never explicitly mentioned it to you, but you’ve noticed that when you start speaking like this, he pulls back. He hasn’t moved away, but he’s not looking at you—he’s looking at Cosmos.

You wish you knew what to do for him when he gets uncomfortable.

“Most mecha are enigmas,” Soundwave says. “Their true feelings, motives, are difficult to read. Prowl’s are not.”

That’s not right, either. You sigh, and realize that from this distance, Cosmos can probably hear your spark. You aren’t sure how you feel about that.

“It is…nice,” You say, and that has Prowl’s head snapping up to meet your optics. He’s…surprised. You’re still trying to avoid slipping into his thought processes, but his surprise is nearly palpable, brushing against your mind like waves to the shore. You don’t like using words like nice; nice is qualitative, open for interpretation. “The clarity of his thoughts are refreshing.”

You take in a long breath.

“Alluring, I suppose.”

Prowl gawks.

Cosmos nods. His helm is warm against your chest, and you can feel his exhaustion intermingling with your own.

“He does have a nice mind,” Cosmos agrees. His ventilations have slowed, but his hand has come up to trace the edge of your tape deck. You shudder, not knowing if Cosmos is doing this on purpose or if he’s just this tactile when he’s overcharged.

Prowl’s still staring at you two. You’d really, really like to explore this further—the touching, the way Prowl’s watching you.

But you’re all exhausted and really, you should quit while you’re ahead because you don’t want to screw this (whatever this is) up. Cosmos lets out a slow breath and relaxes against your frame and privately, you’re glad that he’s not going to try and get up and stumble to his habsuite. It’s not like sleeping in your office (the first door that was easily unlocked and wasn’t going to have mecha wandering in) is wrong. It’s just weird, and it’ll probably be awkward in the morning but right now? You wouldn’t give this up for anything.

Prowl moving to stand is what pulls you out of your thoughts. Cosmos is already unconscious—his mind is quiet, humming in time to his processor as it shuts down. You look up, and uninvited, the wash of uncertainty tinged with fear settles in a haze around your minds.

“You do not have to leave.” You’ve said it before your mouth catches up to your brain. “But the choice is yours.”

Prowl sighs. You won’t be angry if he refuses: after everything that’s been done to him, after everything _you’ve_ done to _him_ , he’s more than entitled to refuse. If you were at all religious, you would consider it a minor miracle that he even tolerates you. That he works with you, much less goes to the bar with you and Cosmos, instead of shooting you in the face and calling it a day.

Sometimes you wonder if that would be best—a clean end. A definitive end. You aren’t stupid enough to think that a year of running a commune is enough to even begin to erase the trail of carnage you happily wreaked across the galaxy for the last five million years.

You’ve been so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even notice Prowl sit next to you. Nor did you notice him shifting his back kibble so he can against the wall (and against _you)_ without discomfort.

You want to say something.

You don’t. You’ve already said enough for today.

By the time you shut down your optics and initiate recharge, he’s still awake. But you can tell he’s drifting off—his thoughts are a quiet whir against your consciousness.

As you drift off, you feel his body relax against yours.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated! you can also [find me on tumblr!](http://soundwavereporting.tumblr.com/)


End file.
